


when you've lived it up 'til it's got you down

by likewinning



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Comment Fic, F/M, post-season five and also ignoring a certain crucial event of season five obviously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-06
Updated: 2010-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 09:13:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1893528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likewinning/pseuds/likewinning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>It hasn’t been easy; mostly she kills evil shit so she doesn’t accidentally kill Dean Winchester, but it’s better than hunting by herself, and she thinks - knows, Sam’s been gone two years but hunters still talk, and everyone talks about Dean – it’s better for him, too.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	when you've lived it up 'til it's got you down

It’s quiet, quieter than either of them has been in weeks. They’re in the Impala on the way out of Anaheim, silence so thick Jo can taste it because the tape deck withered and died somewhere on the border and Jo told Dean _you think you’re pickin’ that thing over a couple of dead kids, you got another thing comin’_ and Dean made a face and said _fine_ , and it didn’t take long for them to figure out that Jo hates the blues and Dean hates country and they both despise anything recorded after 1985.

So, complete and utter silence, but not just because Jo rushed Dean out of town before he could work on the car – neither of them have ever been above small talk before, and with Sam gone Jo’s done more than her share of playing the right parts, keeping Dean good and annoyed and ready to drive them off the road at a moment’s notice.

But the thing is. Jo looks over at Dean; it’s early yet, just shy of noon, and the sun has to be in his eyes driving like this but he doesn’t put on his sunglasses, doesn’t bitch and moan the way he would any other day. The sun’s bright and brilliant, lighting up those freckles on his nose and the green of his eyes and Jo thinks of the color that stained his cheeks not hours before, when.

They’ve been hunting together for a few months now, through nothing but bad luck and coincidence, followed by convenience and familiarity. Jo’s truck breathed its last somewhere in Atlanta and Dean was in a bar not three blocks away, too dead drunk to even hit on anything and Jo pulled him off the stool, paid the tab and said, _you know there’s a job here, right?_ She took him back to her hotel and cleaned him up, did the salt-and-burn while he slept one off, and somehow or other they were on the road the next day, Jo sitting shotgun and Dean singing Zeppelin until Jo said _listen, Frodo, don’t you have anything else to listen to in this fuckin’ car?_

It hasn’t been easy; mostly she kills evil shit so she doesn’t accidentally kill Dean Winchester, but it’s better than hunting by herself, and she thinks - _knows_ , Sam’s been gone two years but hunters still talk, and everyone talks about Dean – it’s better for him, too.

The thing is, though, they finished up a hunt this morning, blasted the heads off a family of ghouls and saved a family doing it, and afterward –

Afterward, the mom had turned to Dean, all sweet-as-pie California-sunshine smile with forty years worth of teeth-whitening under her belt and a demeanor like she hadn’t almost been eaten alive, she’d turned to him and said, “You and your girlfriend work very well together.”

And hell, it isn’t the first time something like that’s happened. Traveling together, sharing rooms with twin beds, heading out to the bar with him to keep Dean from getting too sloppy, just about anyone’ll look at them like they know something. But Dean, he usually takes it in stride, grins and slips an arm around her briefly before chasing after the latest edition of blonde and beautiful with the IQ of a pretzel. Jo grins and bears it mostly, and if sometimes she chases off the smarter ones, the ones Dean might actually remember in the morning, well. Nobody said she was perfect.

Thing is, this time, he’d blushed. Cheeks went dark pink and he didn’t say a word, just nodded and smiled tight and uneasy and Jo watched him and felt her hands clench into fists, felt her own face heat up despite being twenty-seven and so fucking _over_ this, not that girl in her momma’s bar looking for some cute hunter’s approval. Jo, she’d blushed and smiled and muttered _thank you_ before pushing Dean toward the car.

It’s been quiet since then, just the engine beneath them and cars passing by and Jo gritting her teeth, waiting, trying to figure out what his problem is _this_ time.

An hour passes, and another, and Jo dozes on and off, sun on her face and AC flickering on and off and when she opens her eyes again, it’s two in the afternoon and her stomach’s growling, breaking the silence at last. And easy as that, Dean’s looking at her from the rearview mirror, stupid eyes green-gold in the light, looking alive the way they never really do anymore, and he’s saying, “No wonder you’re so hungry, you made us miss breakfast.” Jo scowls at him and points out that he’s the one at the wheel and they bicker their way into a diner, get a table for two, and whatever Dean’s problem was subsides, for a minute.

She doesn’t look into it.


End file.
